


Stay on the line

by Cup_aTea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint can't sleep, Fury lies, Good old-fashioned fix-it, M/M, Phil is lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cup_aTea/pseuds/Cup_aTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint gets a call in the middle of the night.  It's the voice he never thought he'd hear again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay on the line

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post by staingirl on tumblr. Speed written in response, so apologies for mistakes. http://staingirl.tumblr.com/post/52632081199

Clint lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

 

That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence these days.  Ever since Loki, sleep had been hard to reach.  It wasn’t so easy giving in to unconsciousness now that he had been shown what he could be capable of.  Instead, he lay there, the light from the street shining in his eye.

 

The phone buzzed loudly on the bedside table; Clint twitched.

 

The number was blocked, but that wasn’t unusual for someone in his line of work.  He answered with a gruff, “Yes?”  The reply turned his insides to ice.

 

“Clint.  Clint, help me.”

 

A breath.  Two.  Clint drew air in noisily, absently aware that his shoulders and hands were shaking, and that he was pressing the phone too hard against his face.

 

“Clint?  Are you there?”

 

“Phil,” he breathed.

 

“Clint, thank God.”

 

“You aren’t real,” Clint told him.

 

“I am, Clint, I am.  I’m in a medical facility.”

 

“Prove it,” Clint said tightly.

 

“When you were twelve, you cried when they shot the oldest tiger in the circus.  When your brother left you to die, he told you would never have what it took, so you became the best damn mercenary you could be.  On that op in Slovenia, you made Natasha a cake, even when you weren’t supposed to go out for supplies.  After the second time you came in my bed, you cried.  Clint, _please_.”  Phil’s voice was hushed, but desperate.

 

“Phil.  Jesus, Phil.”

 

“Clint, I need help.  I have to get out of here.”

 

“Where are you?”  Clint was up, searching for his jeans and stepping into his boots.

 

“I don’t know.  I think it’s some kind of treatment facility.  I keep dreaming I’m in Tahiti, but then…Clint, you have to find me.”

 

“I’m coming,” Clint confirmed.  “Stay on the line.  I’m going to put you on speaker phone and head to Stark Tower.  Stark owes me one.”

 

“I don’t know how long I’ve got,” Phil said worriedly.

 

“I’m gonna get to Stark.  We’ll trace the call.”

 

“Clint…”

 

“We’re gonna find you.  I promise.”

 

He rummaged around in his sock drawer, searching for the Starkphone that Tony had pressed on him—just in case of Avengers-related or “shawarma-related” emergencies.  The call went straight to Tony’s cell.

 

“Stark?  I need your help.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
